Helen's Children
by Sentimental Star
Summary: It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they return from the countryside…-Book and Moviebased. Familyfic.- -PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS- EDIT: CHAPTER 9 "Trust" IS UP!
1. Euphoria

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::rubs head sheepishly:: Lots of plot bunnies running around in my head at the moment, but the main thing with this is that I wanted to try a story from Helen Pevensie's perspective. I'm also trying something…rather new, and I'm curious to see how people like it: short chapters, brief but (hopefully) intense moments of reflection and epiphany that the Pevensies' mother goes through when the children return to her from the countryside. Please let me know what you think!

_**Rating:**_ PG

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"_**Speech"**_

'_**Personal Thoughts' (Italics)**_

Peter's Age: 14

Susan's Age: 13

Edmund's Age: 11

Lucy's Age: 9

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Euphoria**

It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they return from the countryside. Granted, she doesn't notice it at first-although whether her children meant it to happen that way, or some other divine power made it so, she'll never know.

If she is initially too lost in the euphoria of finally, _finally_ having them back to notice that, although Peter and Edmund are still bickering over such small things as who should carry the suitcases, it is only because Peter wrenched his shoulder trying to help the Professor dismantle an old, oaken, extremely _heavy_ bookcase that morning, and his younger brother will not hear of him carrying _anything_ until it is fully healed. Or if she is too overjoyed to notice that, although Lucy emerges from the train in tears and fuming, it is not because Edmund teased her or Susan brushed her off, but rather, it is because she has seen how unhealthy some of their "age-mates" are and is helpless to aid them. If her sight is too clouded by happy tears to see that, although Susan still looks too prim and proper for a girl of twelve, it is only because she has seen a cadre of soldiers not much older than her brothers and it is her mask for coping. If she realizes none of these things that is all right, because she is so pleased to see her children again it doesn't matter.

Helen does notice that both girls are holding hands as they step off the train onto the platform and that Edmund has apparently lost (won) the two boys' argument, as he is carrying two suitcases in either hand. Peter is a step behind him, looking rather put out and absently rubbing his right shoulder.

"Such faces, my darlings!" she calls out brightly when they are almost all gathered on the platform, laughing warmly as she navigates her way through the stream of passengers disembarking from the train. "Are you so unhappy to see your Mum?"

She first realizes something has changed when her children react. The two girls start and, as Lucy presses into Susan's side, the older girl draws herself up stiffly.

"Mum!" the startled exclamation is Peter's, who, unfortunately, is so startled that he loses his footing on the final step down. His half-strangled yell, therefore, is all the warning Edmund has before his older brother tumbles down behind him.

The suitcases are forgotten immediately, as Edmund spins around to grab his brother by the waist. "You are a klutz," stated bluntly as he steadies the older boy.

Peter does not get angry, as Helen expects him to. He just rolls his eyes fondly as he straightens. "So you've always told me." He grins, lightly ruffling his younger brother's hair and once again hugging his right arm. "Thanks for breaking my fall, Eddy."

Helen holds her breath, expecting an explosion.

Edmund simply rolls his eyes with a warm snort. "I would've broken your fall, anyway. I'd rather not end up flattened like a pancake, thank you."

Their mother notices that Edmund has yet to turn around and face her. His hands still grip Peter's traveling coat and in the span of thirty seconds, half a dozen silent messages pass between her two boys.

She understands none of them.

_Tbc._


	2. Fear

**WARNING:** I forgot to do this in the first chapter, so I'll do it here: beware—these chapters may get messy (as I love writing those!), so you may want to have chocolate and a cuddly stuffed animal available!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Well, I've had a few requests for quicker updates; and as often as I can get these little chapters up, I will, but I'm not promising anything as I'm aiming to get out the third chapter of _Honor Enough_ by the end of this weekend (no promises on that either, I'm afraid ::sheepish smile::). I don't know yet how many chapters of this I'll write—as I'm rather fond of it at the moment—but I can give a fair guess that it will be at least five chapters, probably more. I hope you enjoy this next chapter—I know I certainly enjoyed writing it!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _14_ of you, thank you!

_**Rating:**_ PG

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"**Speech"**

'**_Personal Thoughts'_**

_**Memories (Italics)**_

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Fear**

They spend the afternoon in London, and Helen plies her children with questions about the countryside and the Professor over lunch. As she watches them eat, her eyes are opened still further to the changes their time away has wrought.

Perhaps most apparent is the way they automatically seem to pair off: Edmund and Peter, Lucy and Susan…She remembers still a time when Lucy preferred Peter's presence over Susan's and when Edmund could hardly be in the same room as Peter for ten minutes without her two boys starting to row.

Now it seems to be the opposite: Lucy clings to Susan and (she is very surprised to see this) _Peter_ seems to cling to Edmund, who doesn't seem to mind at all.

It is Edmund who baffles her the most: he is the first to hug her at the train station; the first to thank her for the treat of lunch and the brief holiday in the city—then his siblings follow suit. She remembers quite clearly when those very same actions had to be cajoled out him, and every time the ten-year-old—no, he's eleven now, isn't he?—performs a similar act, Peter grips his younger brother's hand tightly. Just now, he has done it again, almost as if he's…thanking him.

No, that can't be right—why does Peter need to…thank…his brother for something like that?

Slowly, Helen starts making connections, which she quietly examines as she leads her children down the sidewalk towards the tube station.

She supposes Peter could be…afraid of her in some capacity. It has been nearly three months—knowing Peter, he's probably afraid of how well she thinks he took care of his siblings while they were away. But that does not seem…entirely accurate.

Helen sighs, and peeks back at her two boys; even now, Peter's hand is tangled discreetly in Edmund's sleeve. She feels her heart begin to ache: _'What is it that you fear so much, my brave man?'_

Because he _is_ a man, as much as she wishes it weren't so, and she knows that she—and even her husband—bear much of the blame for that. He is only thirteen—fourteen, in a few months—and should never have had to take full responsibility for the lives and welfare of his three younger siblings.

"Peter?"

Peter jerks at her quiet call, rather startled, and immediately straightens. "Yes?"

Helen gives a musical laugh. "It's all right, darling. Walk up here with me a moment, won't you?"

A light frown dusts Edmund's lips; Helen notices that Peter's hand has tightened and is rather certain Edmund has noticed the same. Worriedly, she watches the two of them—were they finally going to start fighting again? The day had been going so _well_—

Edmund gently pries his older brother's fingers from his arm, catching himself just short of kissing their knuckles. It is what he would have done in Narnia, to reassure his brother, but in England and in front of their mother…

Helen stares as Edmund takes a deep breath and visibly steps back, smiling faintly at his older brother. Another silent message passes between them—Peter takes a deep breath of his own and nods, moving forward to join their mother.

"Mum?" he asks softly, turning his blue eyes to meet hers.

Helen starts slightly: she hasn't yet gotten to closely examine any of her children—now she does, and what she finds in his eyes is not what she expects to see.

Peter has always been so _open_ with his emotions, cursed and blessed as he is by an enormous sensitivity. But _these_ eyes…these eyes are so _old_, and they see too much—_have seen_ too much. These are not her son's eyes—the ones she remembers.

"Mum?"

Peter has started to look distinctly alarmed now, and Helen rushes to reassure him. "Sorry, sweetheart," she smiles apologetically, "Your old Mum has a great deal on her mind."

Her eldest child regards her so solemnly that she nearly expects him to say, _"You aren't old,"_ but Peter does nothing of the sort. He does not even remark on it.

Helen shivers: he isn't supposed to understand what she meant, and she finds herself dearly wishing he _would_ say it, as it would reassure her that she has not just stepped over the threshold into a world she cannot understand.

_Tbc._


	3. Empathy

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::sighs:: I ought to warn you now—this chapter might be slightly difficult to read, as I start to bring up the darker issues that may have plagued the Pevensies during their lives in Narnia. This is essentially Susan's chapter, and I hope I've gotten her character right (I also promise to expand upon her character in further chapters). Please enjoy this nonetheless, and let me know what you think!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _35 _of you, thank you!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (intensity)

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"**Speech"**

'_**Personal Thoughts'**_

_**Memories (Italics)**_

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Empathy**

It is once again Edmund who helps re-establish her equilibrium: "Mum?" he asks cautiously from behind them.

Helen visibly starts, smiling faintly when she catches his worried glance. "Don't mind me, darling," she finally murmurs. "I'm just very tired."

Her two boys exchange a weighted glance, and while part of Helen merely sighs, the vast majority of her still feels like it is staring in stunned disbelief—what has changed so much between her two sons that they are _this_ comfortable in each other's presence?

"Can we help?" Peter asks at last, turning back to her.

She expects the concern in his blue eyes—the empathy, she doesn't.

Helen blinks for a startled second, before her small smile steadily grows. "Oh, darling…" this is the Peter she knows, and Helen is greatly reassured by his appearance. "You have already done more than enough. I only meant to thank you—your siblings are wonderfully healthy and even Edmund seems content…" She does not mention the tension she senses buzzing just below the surface, and turns instead to smile over her shoulder at Edmund, who promptly blushes and looks away, "and that's thanks to _you_," added, as she returns her smiling gaze to Peter. "I know your father would be proud."

Helen senses the first easing in her eldest son as she speaks, and nearly smiles again—was this, then, the root cause of all Peter's tension?

Edmund speaks up again, and Helen is almost certain she has seen his hand gently press into his brother's back: "Have you heard from him, Mum?" he asks softly.

Helen notices that even Susan and Lucy, who have dallied between clinging to her and clinging only to each other and their brothers, have surround her now, all four sets of eyes bright, eager to hear news of their father fighting overseas. Consequently, Helen's smile is rather large as she replies, "Yes. He has written a number of times since you left for the countryside. He says he misses you and that he can't wait to see you. That the war is long and he is trying to be patient…" She does not mention the comrades he's lost, or the horrors he's seen, mercifully unaware that her two sons know the carnage and grief of the battlefield all too well, and that her two daughters have firsthand knowledge of the sentence it carries for mortality. She remembers only the shakiness of her husband's penmanship and the words he pours out onto the page: _"Most of these soldiers are mere boys, Helen,"_ he writes her, _"I dread the day Peter and Edmund will have to face such horrors. That is why I cannot come home; every day that I spend here is one less day our boys will have to spend in these God-forsaken trenches. Please be patient and wait for me—I __will__ return home someday…"_

Discreetly, Helen brushes away a tear before any of her children can see it. She thinks she has succeeded…until Susan lightly purses her lips and reaches up to wipe away the second tear that follows.

Helen blinks, and glances at her oldest daughter in surprise. "Sweetheart?"

Susan has always had a gentle soul, but she has not always known how to properly express it. Usually, she ends up coming across as more bossy and overbearing than worried, but her gesture carries nothing of that inherent awkwardness anymore.

Susan's face softens. "Do not bottle up your emotions, Mum," she murmurs. "It does not help." Her face softens further still. "I ought to know, better than anyone."

Helen stares at her eldest daughter, shocked so deeply that she is not so careful about what she says: "How could you possibly know that, darling?"

Susan smiles faintly, shadows of old and remembered pain flickering in her eyes. "Let's just say…I know what it feels like to be left behind."

Helen's thirteen-year-old daughter sends a pointed look over her shoulder, and her mother is nearly certain it is directed at her brothers.

When Helen cautiously glances at the boys to see how they react, she is once again reminded that these are not the same children who left her for the countryside:

Peter grimaces apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck, while Edmund stares down at his hands, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Helen can't know that both brothers (but especially Edmund) have caused their sisters much heartache and worry by returning to them half-dead, nearly dead, all but maimed…It is for this reason that as soon as Lucy was of age, she joined Edmund and Peter on their campaigns. But Susan, never able to stomach battle or blood, least of all her siblings' blood, remained at Cair Paravel.

It is difficult enough for Helen to process the fact that _every single one_ of her daughter's words rings true.

_Tbc._


	4. Uncertainty

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::smiles sheepishly:: This _was_ supposed to be Edmund's chapter, but I've been dropping hints about him ever since I started this story, so what I might have covered in here, ended up in earlier chapters or _will_ end up in later chapters. ::sighs:: Not entirely sure how happy I am with this—there's a lot I wanted to get in here that I ended up discarding, or moving around, but I hope it meets your approval still! It's rather short, and I may revise it later (even more than I've revised it already ::makes a face::), but ultimately, I hope I got this particular epiphany across, too.

_**Reviewers:**_ All _55_ of you, thank you so much!

_**Rating:**_PG

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"**Speech"**

'_**Personal Thoughts (Italics)'**_

_**Memories/Quotes**_

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Uncertainty**

It is still quite early when Helen and her children emerge from Finchley's tube station, so Helen has them stop by the park. The words _"Go play,"_ nearly fall off the tip of her tongue, but remembering the _age_ in her children's eyes, those words die before they can even fully form.

She thinks she might have offended her children if they had.

Her decision proves fortuitous—at least in Peter's and Susan's case. Her two eldest look completely lost when they reach what used to be the children's favorite spot in the park.

Helen's brow furrows in concern and puzzlement. Surely they _remember_ how to play, don't they?

Edmund rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Lucy, grasping an older sibling's (unwounded) shoulder in either hand, and gently propels them forward. Helen finds herself staring again as Lucy grins at him and darts ahead, apparently understanding her brother in a way Helen isn't quite sure she's _ever_ seen before.

When Edmund speaks, her younger son's comment completely befuddles her: "Come on, you two, make the most of it."

A moment later, Susan shrieks as Edmund suddenly scrabbles his fingers against her side (a place, Helen abruptly remembers, that is quite ticklish). Laughing, he dashes after his younger sister.

For a moment, Helen watches as Susan glowers after him, hands on her hips and proverbial steam pouring out of her ears. Then, almost between one breath and the next, Susan growls and darts after him, exclaiming, "You get _back _here, Edmund Pevensie!"

She leaves a very disoriented and startled Peter behind her.

Helen blinks rapidly, not entirely sure what has just passed here. The more time she spends with her children, the more apparent it becomes that there are depths and layers to them that she can hardly begin to fathom.

Susan hasn't "played" for the simple joy of it in months, and Edmund…if his older siblings have changed drastically, Edmund has changed _radically_, and Helen isn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Mum?"

Peter gently grasps her elbow, and Helen vaguely realizes her face must have turned pure white.

Carefully, her eldest son leads her over to a tall, leafy ash tree and helps her sit beneath its shade, taking a seat beside her. Helen can only shake her head over and over, utterly unsure what has changed her children to such a painful degree.

As she speaks, she wonders whether she should be worried or not: "Peter, your brother…"

She cannot say anything else—the rest of her words have caught in her throat.

Peter glances away, shame on his face and tightly shutting his eyes. Helen notices his hands have bunched into fists at his sides, and realizes that he is faintly trembling.

Alarm widens her own: "Peter?" she murmurs, reaching out to touch him.

At that moment, Susan's anguished cry reverberates from the center of the park: "_Peter_! Oh, Peter, where _are _you? Do hurry—it's Edmund!"

_Tbc._


	5. Intuition

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::peeks out from behind barricades:: All clear? ::rubs head sheepishly:: Well, I'd apologize, but cliffhangers are such marvelous writer's tools that I love using them. I suspect the ending of this chapter will only be marginally better ::sheepish grin::. I am, however, delighted you enjoyed the previous chapter so much, short as it was. I hope you like this one just as much! For those of you who read author's notes (::raises hand guiltily::), I've got a question for you: should I focus my efforts on only **one** fanfic, and complete it before I move on to the next? Or would you prefer it if I continued updating **several** simultaneously, as I have been? ::grins:: Just curious. In any case, please enjoy!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _82_ of you, thank you!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"**Speech"**

'_**Personal Thoughts (Italics)'**_

_**Memories/Quotes (Italics)**_

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Intuition**

Peter is gone. Almost as soon as Susan's cry has diminished, he is off—racing towards the trees. Within moments he has disappeared beyond Helen's sight.

His mother is left with only the memory of the utter _terror_ on her oldest son's face, and it chills her to her core.

Only once has she seen such a look on a man's face; he was the best friend of a dying soldier, with whom she had become acquainted as a tiny girl. She can't have been more than five, helping her mother nurse the British soldiers who fought in the first Great War. She no longer remembers the dying man's face, but the terror and the heartbreak and the anguish and the _grief_ on his best friend's face have been indelibly etched into her memory.

Peter is not supposed to look like that; he should not know such despondency and despair, especially not when it concerns his brother.

'_Merciful Lord…what has happened to my children?'_

IOIOIOIOIOI

Helen isn't sure she is even breathing as she sits there, frozen beneath the ash tree. Every sense is straining (even if her muscles are not moving) for any sign, any glimpse of her children. Minutes pass like eternity, and Helen's stomach churns and twists as a dozen different scenarios rush through her mind.

Only when her children emerge from the trees does she finally begin to breathe again.

Even at this distance, she can see her youngest son is leaning heavily on his older brother, and he walks as if in a great deal of pain. Had his father been here, he would have simply swung Edmund up into his arms.

That is exactly what Peter would have done, had he the strength to do so—but in this world he is too young, too small, and he cannot _protect_ Edmund as he would like.

But of course, his mother is not aware of this. Shakily, she rises to her feet, feeling vaguely ill when she notices the bruises and the blood mottling Edmund's face.

She suspects his nose may be broken.

"Peter, what…?" Helen's breath catches in her throat, and she must use the wide trunk of the ash tree for balance as her children near her.

Peter wordlessly shakes his head, face pale, and carefully lowers his little brother to sit in the grass, "Lu, your diagnosis?"

Helen starts at the demand, having completely forgotten her daughters must have witnessed the entire altercation, as well (she is very sure it is an altercation, as Edmund has the uncanny ability to draw attention—and trouble—to him; she wishes this, at least, _could_ have changed).

Lucy frowns fiercely, pressing her lips together in a thin line. "It's broken, Peter," stated bluntly. Helen stares, stunned just as much by the precision of Lucy's check up, as she is by the absolute _confidence_ with which she states her diagnosis. "Or, at least, very badly fractured."

Helen sits down again, rather abruptly, earning a sharp look from her eldest daughter, who has taken a seat beside her. "Mum?" Susan asks softly.

Helen can only shake her head.

It doesn't make _sense_: eight-year-old little girls should _not_ be able to diagnose a broken, let alone fractured, nose. Eight-year-old little girls should _not_ be this calm when faced with the sight of so much blood, least of all when it belongs to a beloved older sibling. And eight-year-old little girls should _certainly_ not be the authority twelve-and-thirteen-year-old older siblings turn to whenever such a situation arises.

Helen does not like what that implies—for Lucy to be so adept…surely something must have happened in the countryside. Something of such great magnitude that it has completely altered her children beyond recognition.

She wonders if she should be angry at the Professor: simple relocation _cannot_ be responsible for such a change.

Peter's thick voice startles Helen out of her musings: "You utter fool."

She is not the only one who winces when it breaks.

_Tbc._


	6. Worry

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::rubs neck sheepishly:: Um…you might not like this chapter's ending too much. So far, I think this is probably one of my favorite chapters—and those of you who have followed my stories know what that means: messiness, fluffiness, and angst galore (probably more angst and mess than fluff at this point). ::grins embarrassedly:: In any case, I hope you like it. As for my question from last chapter—it's pretty much split down the middle at this point. I think what I'll do is focus my efforts on this piece and see where I go from there. Thank you to those of you who responded, and to everyone: please enjoy this next chapter!

_**P. S.**_ I am not a doctor, nurse, or any sort of medical specialist—I did research my information, so hopefully it is correct!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _105_ of you, thank you!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intensity and slight gore)

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"**Speech"**

'_**Personal Thoughts (Italics)'**_

_**Memories/Quotes (Italics)**_

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Worry**

Helen considers the initial changes in her children disturbing enough; the fact that Peter is so desperately afraid, so utterly panicked by his younger brother's injury, speaks to Helen of events that she has barely even begun to uncover.

However, by far more unnerving is the utter _calm_ Lucy displays when faced by this—from the looks of it—rather serious injury. "Lean forward, Ed," Lucy's voice is quiet, encouraging. As Helen watches, her youngest daughter gently urges her brother to lean forward, grasping his neck with utter care. When Edmund follows his little sister's command (for once) without complaint, Helen's stomach drops.

What has turned her little Lucy into such an able-bodied nurse? So able, that her older brother follows her orders without question?

"Breathe, Ed," Lucy continues to encourage softly, lightly rubbing his back.

Helen is so transfixed by the sight before her that she jerks when Susan's voice speaks up, having momentarily that her two eldest are even in the vicinity:

"That goes for you, as well, Peter," her oldest daughter remarks dryly.

Helen glances up in enough time to catch the highly _un_-amused glower her eldest sends his rather pale older sister…and starts a second time when a resounding _rip_ echoes throughout the clearing.

Peter has apparently just cut a swath of his shirt with his pocketknife. Even though he is frowning fiercely, Helen notices that his hands are gentle (if a bit clumsy) as he presses the cloth lightly to Edmund's nose.

Her younger son can barely even smile as he pulls his hands away from his nose to accept the makeshift handkerchief.

"Keep the pressure, Ed!" Lucy all but snaps.

Helen scarcely registers the fact that her youngest daughter apparently isn't as calm as she believed her to be—she cannot even smile when Edmund rolls his eyes in fond exasperation and complies.

Even though she has seen men with wounds far worse than the one Edmund sports, Helen still feels her stomach churn and flip-flop at the sheer amount of _blood_ that covers his palms: it is one thing to treat men who are essentially strangers—it is something else entirely to be faced with her youngest son in such a state. She supposes it is different when the patient in question is your own child.

"…What the bloody hell were you _thinking_?"

Peter's sharp voice jerks Helen's attention back to the scene in front of her, and she stares, having never before heard such frantic _anger_ in her oldest child's voice.

Evidently, Edmund is startled, too, if the expression on his face (what she can see of it) is anything to go by.

She nearly laughs in relief a moment later when Edmund outright scowls at his older brother: "What did you _expect_ me to do, Peter?" her youngest son's voice is slightly incredulous. "Let him harass Lu?"

Peter's voice is tight: "I would _expect_ you to value your own life a little, too!"

Helen blinks. She is partially relieved, partially fearful that her two boys have finally begun to argue again: it lends to their otherwise rather alarming changes a thin scrim of normalcy. Unfortunately, the content of their argument is so completely _un_-like anything she has heard before that she is at an utter loss about how to resolve it.

As it turns out, Edmund does it for her: "Sorry, Peter," her youngest son sighs, "but I think we established a while ago that isn't an option when it comes to you or the girls."

"It should be." Helen winces—Peter's retort has gotten caught in his throat.

Edmund cannot snort (no matter how much Helen is sure he wants to), and settles for weakly swatting at his brother's hovering face, his flash-fire temper having run its course. "You're one to talk, big brother."

Helen's heart aches at the tenderness that softens those last two words—it has literally been months since Edmund last spoke those words with even remotely the same amount of affection. In spite of how upsetting the radical change in her children is, she thinks it may almost be worth it, if that change has allowed Peter and Edmund to find their footing again.

As she discovers in the next moment, however, that renewed bond is something of a double-edged sword: Peter's blue eyes are over bright, and so _pained_ that Helen is surprised he isn't crying, yet.

The old Edmund would have made fun—would have sneered derisively and turned away. Not this Edmund: "You great git," he groans.

Helen stares as he huffs an irritated breath and reaches an arm up to wrap it tightly around his older brother's neck. Before their mother can blink, Edmund pulls Peter against his own shoulder and neck, curling his body into the thirteen-year-old's.

Another faint huff—this one of mixed exasperation and amusement—redirects Helen's attention to Susan, who has remained at her side throughout the entire ordeal. The part of Helen that isn't still reeling from this most recent revelation is slightly stunned that her oldest daughter hasn't fainted yet. Granted, Susan's face is slightly whiter than it ought to be, and her spine is perhaps a bit more rigid than its usual graceful poise, but she is far more concerned about the blood that has now transferred to Peter:

"Edmund, dear," their oldest sister frets, "you're getting blood on Peter's clothes."

Edmund ignores her, Peter apparently has not heard her, and Lucy merely sighs, "At least lay down, Ed, and _try_ not to stain Peter's shirt anymore than the idiot has stained it already."

'_One would think,'_ Helen realizes with gradually dawning horror, _'that this is almost normal.'_

_Tbc._


	7. Protection

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Um…wow ::blinks and rubs head sheepishly::. The end of this chapter went in a _totally_ different direction than I had planned. But you know…::smiles sheepishly:: I think I really like it. It starts exploring the darker and deeper thoughts that Helen may not necessarily share with her children—and I love it! I hope you do, too! Happy Easter!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _128_ of you, thank you!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intensity of the issues dealt with)

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"**Speech"**

'_**Personal Thoughts (Italics)'**_

_**Memories/Quotes (Italics)**_

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Protection**

Helen discovers what happened later, after the family doctor leaves their home. It is nothing she finds unexpected: Edmund got into a fight; recently, not an uncommon occurrence when it comes to her youngest son.

The reason _why_ he fought, however, is another matter entirely: to defend Lucy and Susan.

It is something she has difficulty fathoming—he has never shown any protective tendencies towards the girls, that usually fell in Peter's lap. He has never been particularly close with his sisters, and the one person he _had_ been close to, aside from his brother, is across the English Channel, fighting overseas.

So when her daughters give her more details, Helen is shocked to find herself inclined to agree with Peter: what Edmund did is utterly foolish. Noble, selfless, brave…but utterly foolish.

The story as Helen understands it is horrifying enough: an older boy was trying to have his way with Susan. Unable to simply sit by and watch, Lucy had stepped in to defend her beloved older sister. It is something she has done countless times before, in Narnia, but their mother does not know that. Here, Lucy is all of eight years of age—nine, next spring—and no matter how brave that eight-year-old may be, she is still no match (in England, anyway) for a fifteen-year-old boy.

Neither is Edmund, for that matter, but as Helen can plainly see, that does nothing to deter him.

Wearily, their mother sighs, rubbing her face with her hands and slowly climbing up the stairs: the questions are piling up, and growing more disturbing by the hour. She has found herself seesawing all day—caught between elation and horror. The changes are wonderful and disturbing all at once, and she does not know whom to speak to or even, what about.

Logically, Helen realizes she should speak with her children, but the sheer volume of revelations today has her doubting she can handle anymore.

As she peeks around the partially open door to Edmund's room, however, she begins to understand that it is something she should get used to: Peter is sitting on Edmund's bed and her other son—her surly, standoffish, sour Edmund—is curled against his older brother's hip, sound asleep and absolutely at peace with the world.

Helen watches, hardly breathing, as Peter's fingers ghost through Edmund's hair and across his cheek. The tenderness in his touch causes her heart to clench, and she does not dare look up at her older son's face, too afraid to see the unrestrained _cherishing_ she knows must be there.

Peter would have been the logical first choice to go to, as even after only one day, she understands that he has become _the _central figure in his siblings' lives. Especially so for Edmund, who himself is so completely comfortable in his older brother's presence that he sleeps without inhibition.

It is something Helen, and even her husband, has never managed, and she can barely see for the tears blurring her sight. Any heart she may have built up to ask him what has changed his siblings _so much_ has vanished, and she turns, meaning to leave for her own room or Susan's.

But before she can creep away, Peter's voice calls out softly to her, "Mum?"

IOIOIOIOIOI

Helen does not feel like she belongs when she steps into her younger son's room. Immediately, she notices that the tension which had hung thick like fog between her two sons, even when sleeping, in the months preceding their departure for the countryside, is simply…not there anymore. It has completely disappeared.

The second thing she notices is rather more heartbreaking: Peter's hand has (unconsciously) clenched on his younger brother's shoulder.

Helen tries to ignore it—as well as the rather sudden urge she has to start apologizing profusely, for whatever it is that has made Peter fear her so.

"Peter?" she murmurs, hesitantly walking over to the bed. Gingerly, she sits down on the mattress beside her eldest son, but stops just short of reaching out to touch his hand.

Visibly, Peter forces himself to relax, taking a deep breath and slowly loosening his grip on Edmund's shoulder. "It…it's all right, Mum," he smiles faintly at her. "Ed would have been awake five minutes ago, except that he wore himself out with all that excitement this afternoon."

Helen notices that his hand has clenched again—not quite so hard this time, but it is quite clearly shaking. It reminds her of what happened _before_ that "excitement" this afternoon, and of the way Peter's face looked when she asked after his brother.

'_What can you have possibly done…to feel that much guilt?'_ she wonders sadly.

"Peter?" she murmurs again. Peter looks up from where he has been intently studying Edmund's face, and Helen's chest tightens at the wariness that is partially hidden at the back of his gaze. "Why…would Edmund attack Mrs. Carmichael's son? I thought they were…friends?"

Arguably, she knows the answer—to defend his sisters. But that is not what she is asking: her question is more, why would _Edmund_ attack the other boy…when usually that is how Peter responds.

Her oldest son knows this, just as he knows that she has never approved of the Carmichael boy in the first place.

Nonetheless, Helen is quite startled when another sad smile lights up Peter's face.

"A lot changed in the countryside, Mum," he murmurs. "But if I were to tell you…" he glances away, using his blonde bangs to hide his eyes, "I doubt you would believe me."

There is a sharp, unexpected flash of irritation, and Helen feels like saying, _"__Try__ me,"_ but a moment later, with an equally sharp flash of shame, she realizes how childish that would be.

…Which brings up a new and utterly alarming train of thought: is she _jealous_ of Peter? After all, he has achieved something that Helen has never been able to.

Peter must sense something because, ever so subtly, he begins to back away, loosening his grip even more on Edmund's shoulder.

At that moment, Edmund stirs, cracking his eyes open and peering up hazily at his older brother. "Pete…" he yawns widely, "Peter?"

_Tbc._


	8. Guilt

_**Disclaimer:**_I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to Walden Media and C. S. Lewis.

_**Author's Note:**_::rubs head sheepishly:: Um…I know it's been a while. Real life sort of caught up with me. I'm sorry if I left anyone hanging. I really don't like doing that—to either my readers or my stories. But hey…the good news is, I've finally got a break ::cheers::! I plan on updating my Narnia stories in this order:

_Helen's Children_

_Nighttime Demons_

_Honor Enough/Honoring Him_

And then I'll take it from there. I know this chapter is kind of short, but I hope well worth it. Please enjoy!

_**Reviewers:**_All _153_ of you, thank you! I'm so pleased this story of mine is so popular!

_**Rating:**_T/M (for difficult issues)

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"**Speech"**

'_**Personal Thoughts (Italics)'**_

_**Memories/Quotes (Italics)**_

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Guilt**

All it takes is a split-second glance around the room for Edmund to piece together the situation he has woken up in.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?"

The force behind the soft demand is equivalent to a small squall, and although the blistering glare Edmund lays on Peter is not directed at her, Helen nearly steps back a whole pace and a half. As angry as he is at his brother, Helen somehow thinks Edmund will be much angrier with her when he turns around.

She is half-right.

As Peter is firmly yanked back onto the bed, Edmund turns his eyes towards her and presses his lips into a thin line: "What is going _on_, Mum?"

An edge of steel sharpens his voice, and the tension Helen has sensed all day manifests itself in that tone. She does not know what to think: Edmund's temper has always burned fierce and hot, but this…edge of winter…is foreign.

"Sweet…heart…?" Uncertainly, she draws out the endearment. Helen has no idea what she has done, but apparently, it has upset Peter a great deal…if his brother is reacting like this.

She sees Peter brush his fingers against Edmund's arm. "Ed…" he begins.

A dull ache settles under Helen's ribs as she watches her youngest son turn to his older brother, face etched with anger, and grief, and panic. "_You_ stay out of this!"

Peter's jaw sets and Helen's heart constricts: in that one moment, he looks so much like his father.

The backs of Peter's fingers rest against Edmund's cheek: "You know I can't."

Helen hears the silent, _Not when you're like this_, that her oldest son conveys through his touch.

In spite of the tenderness inherent in the gesture, Edmund looks rebellious: "_Peter_-!"

He is cut off mid-sentence when Peter presses his fingers to Edmund's lips. "Peace, Brother," he murmurs.

Helen stares as Edmund—albeit rather sullenly—complies.

…

Her mind draws a complete blank. Where…when did Peter gain such authority over his siblings—over his _brother_, who, before they had ever left for the countryside, would sooner rebel than compromise? Where is her Edmund, stubborn and defiant and full of unyielding fire?

This _isn't_ the Edmund she knows (or the Peter, for that matter): her boys are too different, too changed…and there isn't an adequate explanation yet as to why.

Her explanation comes when Peter shuts his eyes, slowly turning to face her. When they suddenly snap open, Helen bites back a startled (and rather undignified) squeak: "P-Peter?" she stammers, pinned in place by the utter gravity and _guilt_ which darken their blue depths to gray.

"I-I'm sorry, Mum," he finally whispers. "I…I wish I could tell you more, but…even if I did…it wouldn't change the fact that I…took something precious from you. If…if you want it back, I…understand, but…I can't promise…that it will be easy…"

There is a growl. Edmund yanks his brother's hand off his mouth. "Don't you _dare_," he hisses.

Helen is lost. She can only watch as Peter slowly shakes his head, "Ed…"

He looks truly miserable, and Helen's neck prickles as she realizes the fear she'd sensed earlier today actually has very little to do with what _she_ thinks, and everything to do with something else entirely.

"What…exactly did you take, darling?" she is barely able to murmur. Her head is spinning.

Peter shuts his eyes again, and a tear slides down his cheek. "Your children," he whispers.

_Tbc._


	9. Trust

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Erm…it's been a rather long time, hasn't it? ::smiles sheepishly:: My apologies. Please be assured that I most certainly have not given this story up, but its updates may be a while coming—being a full-time teacher doesn't really leave much time for little treats like this, but I have been wanting to get this chapter out for a while. ::grins:: I hope you approve!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _187_ of you, thank you so much!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (_NO_ Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"**Speech"**

'_**Personal Thoughts (Italics)'**_

_**Memories/Quotes (Italics)**_

_.:Helen's Children:._

_By Sentimental Star_

**Trust**

Helen is too stunned to move when Edmund lashes out at Peter, still reeling from her eldest child's uttered statement.

"You _idiot_!"

His older brother easily grabs his fist, and Edmund squeezes his eyes shut: "Are you even _listening_ to yourself? There isn't a power in this world that can undo all of…_th-that_!"

Helen has no idea what "_that_" is, but she suspects it might hold the answers to all the questions she can't ask.

Peter reaches out a hand to touch his brother's cheek again, "But, Ed, I'm-"

"_You're_ an imbecile!"

She winces when Edmund's voice cracks, "An extremely important imbecile, but an imbecile nonetheless! You selfless ass, if you just stopped to _think_ a minute-!"

Peter vigorously shakes his head. "Edmund, I have no _right_-!"

"_Bollocks_, you don't, Pete! You practically _raised _us while we were-"

Helen delicately clears her throat.

Edmund's tongue stills and she is fascinated by the mixed rebellious/embarrassed look that colors his cheeks.

Peter takes the opportunity to gently wrap his arm around Edmund's shoulders, pulling his younger brother into his side.

Helen catches the hitch in Edmund's voice when he speaks, watches as her younger son turns to twist his fingers in Peter's pajamas, burying his face in the warm fabric. His voice shakes, "I won't let you go."

Tears well up in Helen's eyes—it has been so _long_ since she has seen them thus. In the years before the war, when Edmund and Peter were very small, her eldest always went everywhere with Edmund perched on his hip. Even when his brother grew too big, even when Peter could no longer carry him, it was not uncommon to find Edmund with his hand tucked into the older boy's.

Then boarding school came, and with it the war. Everything changed: quarrels over the tiniest thing, blown out of proportion, resulted in her two boys going for days without speaking to each other. Hurts and misunderstandings, never soothed over, caused beds to remain full and separate, as they never had before the war. Edmund withdrew, then exploded. Peter exploded, then ignored. Colin leaving to fight had only exacerbated an already unraveling situation.

She and her husband had begun to lose hope that their sons would ever mend the rift between them, and the chasm grew daily, until they had been almost sure it would never be crossed.

Yet, somehow, some _way_, the children's relocation to the countryside had completely reversed the situation.

She cannot ask why, too afraid of receiving another answer like Peter's. She is not sure she would even believe them if she tried: there is a monumental difference between the children she entrusted into God's keeping and the ones that have returned to her. Logically then, something of _equal_ magnitude—or greater—must have happened to make it so.

That thought is rather frightening, actually. What power existed that could change her children to such a mind-numbing degree? She had sent them to the countryside specifically to _prevent _anything like that from occurring.

Helen sees now that it may have been a fool's hope that had driven her.

_Tbc._


End file.
